


Deep Dark Secrets

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Coming Out, Confusion, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, First Time, Home, Jealousy, John's past, Kissing, Love, M/M, New Year's Eve, Party, Secrets, The Gay Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2825696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to John's mother's house for Christmas reveals a secret from John's past. How will it change his and Sherlock's future?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"John, I haven't seen you since you got back and I demand that you come home for the holiday! Just a couple days for the party. You can bring your friend Sheryl."

"Who?" John asked, looking up at the ceiling and trying to keep his cool. He knew that his mother meant well, but the last thing he wanted was to go home again. He knew Harry was there with Clara, still drinking and then fighting about it with Clara. On top of that, his mother never did anything quietly so he doubted it would be a small family affair. 

"You know, the one that you're always writing about -- Harry told me about her." 

"Do you mean from the blog? That's a man, Mum. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes," John sighed. He saw Sherlock look up, but he just moseyed into the kitchen. 

"A man?" she repeated, sounding interested. 

"No, Mum. No."

"I didn't say anything!"

"But you were thinking it and that's just as bad. It's not like that." John glanced towards the sitting room. "We're just doing something small here at the flat."

"John, this will be small! Harry isn't even here because she is going to Clara's," his mum said. "Don't leave me alone on Christmas, John." 

John sighed and moved back into the sitting room. He would ask Sherlock so she could hear him say no. Then he could invite her over here. That way he wouldn't feel guilty but he could avoid having to go back. "Sherlock? My mum wants us to go over for the holiday . . ." 

"All right, that's fine," Sherlock said. He was reading the newspaper, trying to determine whether or not he'd discovered a pattern between three crimes which he already knew were completely unrelated. But he was bored and sometimes Sherlock sidetracked his brain just to keep himself momentarily entertained.

John's mouth fell open. "What?"

"Perfect!" John's mum said, having heard Sherlock. "I expect you this weekend! Something small. See you!" She hung up the phone and John was left staring at Sherlock. 

"Of all the times I needed you to be your usual, antisocial self," he sighed heavily. 

Sherlock put the paper down and looked up at John. "What are you talking about?" he asked, getting up to put the kettle on.

"Well, you should go pack a bag. At least for the weekend. Casual is fine." John headed for the stairs as he stuffed his phone into his pocket. Small. There was no way this would be small, and now there was no getting out of it.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked. Did John have something that might turn into a case?

John paused on the stairs. "We're going to my mum's for Christmas, thanks to you."

"What's this to do with me? John, it's a thoughtful offer and everything, but I'm not really into Christmas and I'm certainly not into families so thanks but no thanks."

"No! No, no, no," John said, coming back down. "I was telling her no and then you said 'sounds wonderful' and she heard you and now we're going. We. We are going."

"John, you know me well enough not to ask me questions," Sherlock said, realising it was a stupid thing to say but not taking it back. "Seriously . . . I'll have to . . . talk to people?"

"Yes," John said. "We're going for a weekend."

Sherlock decided to take another strategy. "But it's Christmas, John. I feel we really should be here for . . . for Mrs Hudson. She might need us."

"That's what I told my mum and you said 'sounds wonderful, John.'" John crossed his arms and raised his brows. "Now we have to go." 

Sherlock looked over at John. He really had no memory of agreeing to this; however, he was also totally aware that John had come into the room and said something, and Sherlock had responded without thinking. It was clear John wasn't too keen on going either so Sherlock knew that this wasn't about John tricking him and just about his own lack of attention. "All right," Sherlock said. "If you insist. But I don't plan on being anything but my normal unsociable self. Deal?"

"Hmm," John thought for a moment. "No deal. She's not going to kick us out even if you are unpleasant, so you might as well be nice. You have to be nice."

"Being quiet can be nice, John," Sherlock said. He swallowed. "I will try very hard not to be rude, but can I at least mostly be quiet, please?" He gave John a pleading, pathetic smile.

John nodded. "I think that'll be fine. I have to go pack my bag. It's just for a few days. It'll be fine, okay?"

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said. "I'll go pack. Yes, I'm sure it'll be fine." He headed into his room.

Everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes had issues with emotions and human interaction, that those weren't particularly his strong points. He himself was well aware of that fact. But what he knew that few others seemed to recognise is that, despite these things not processing personally with him, he had studied them. Just like humans could study and predict chimpanzee behaviour -- without ever really knowing what it feels like to be a chimpanzee -- Sherlock Holmes studied human behaviour and could make predictions, even if he couldn't relate to whatever it was those humans were actually feeling.

For example, Sherlock Holmes had studied John Watson. Who happened to be Sherlock's favourite human being, but that was by the by. John Watson had strength of character and good determination. But he also liked to please people. John did not want to go see his family, but did not want to displease them. So he set Sherlock up -- Sherlock could say no and therefore John's family could blame Sherlock. However, due to Sherlock's own error, they now had to go.

None of this -- not even Sherlock's acknowledgement of his own culpability in the event -- changed what Sherlock felt about the trip: he did not want to go. 

This is why his first strategy was refusal. But not out and out refusal -- he'd learned enough about John to know that didn't work with him. Appeal to his patience (Oh John, I was confused), appeal to his compassion (Mrs Hudson needs us). When those didn't fly, Sherlock had pulled out his trump card: seduction.

Not seduction in the way it's usually meant -- just the thought of John knowing Sherlock had used the word seduction brought a smile to his face. John was so uptight about anyone teasing them about being together. Since they'd met, John had said the phrase "I'm not gay" thirty four and a half times (once he was interrupted). In a way it was a shame; of course, Sherlock did consider himself married to his work but John was a handsome man and . . . 

Regardless, Sherlock's seduction of John wasn't sexual, not really. But it was intimate. If Sherlock himself could see that there was something different about their relationship, surely John Watson, a much more emotion-based man, knew it. So if all other appeals failed, Sherlock knew that if he used his sweet voice coupled with his sweet smile (which he'd only discovered he possessed since meeting John) -- if he used those two things along with what appeared to be a compromise -- he'd get his way with John.

And he felt he had. He'd agreed to go but got permission to 'be quiet." So he filled his bag with a few books he'd been meaning to read and his notes from his last two cases, because Sherlock had every intention of spending the entire weekend locked away on the spare bedroom, while John did the 'family thing' without him. And what's even better is that, on paper, his going would appear to be quite a big favour, so now he had one in the bank the next time he needed something from John.

He wondered if he should feel guilty about manipulating things like this, but he realised he did not. He threw some clothes into his bag and went out into the sitting room.

John tossed clothes into his bag and tried to imagine what being home was going to be like with Sherlock there. He had a bad feeling about it all -- about what his mum would think what was going on. 

But Sherlock didn't need to know any of that and if John was lucky he'd quietly involve himself with something and John could keep all of his mum's focus and then it would be time to go. They could do this. It would be fine. 

He came down with his bag and sank into his chair. "We should leave tomorrow morning. It's a bit of a trip and I'd like to just get it out of the way. At least Harry won't be there as well." 

"John! Why'd I have to pack right now if we're not leaving until tomorrow?" Sherlock complained. "Should we just go to bed now to get to tomorrow sooner?" He flopped down on the sofa. 

"If you want, but if you don't fall asleep it'll be pointless." He looked over at Sherlock. "If we leave in the morning it'll cut down on some of the time there. I'm being . . . selfish," he admitted.

Sherlock looked over at John. "Why don't you want to go?" he asked softly. 

John shrugged and looked down at his lap. "It's never small. Harry drinks too much, fights with Clara, fights with my mum . . . " He looked over at Sherlock again.”The neighbours come for a show."

"But you said Harry wouldn't be there."

"Yeah, but when my mum says it'll be small . . . I don't know. Just be prepared, okay? It might not be what you expect."

Sherlock sat up. "I don't know what I expect, which I don't really like but I'll try," he said. "I'll still be able to . . . be quiet, yeah?"

John nodded. "I'll keep her focus. You can just . . . be you and keep me from murdering anyone." He smiled softly and tried to make a joke out of it. "Why did you say you wanted to go?"

"I didn't say I wanted to go," Sherlock said. "I said I would go. Precision, John -- don't forget."

"Well, it's too late now so we just have to get through it." He got up and went to make some tea, leaning on the counter to wait.

Sherlock stood up and followed John to the kitchen. "Don't answer if you're just going to get cross at me for asking, but why aren't you taking a girlfriend with you instead of your flatmate?" he asked.

"Because you know I am not seeing anyone right now. Besides, she asked for you by name. Sort of." John looked over at him. "That's why I asked you if you wanted to go. And you said you did." 

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped saying I said I wanted to go," Sherlock said. "Lying is not going to make this weekend any easier. Besides," he added, going to get the milk from the fridge, "how am I supposed to know you're not seeing someone? I don't keep track of your social calendar, you know."

John rolled his eyes. "You're the most observant man I know. If you can tell when I sleep on a sofa, you can tell if I have a girlfriend," he said. 

Obviously Sherlock knew John didn't have a girlfriend. He wasn't quite sure why he'd said that -- if he was trying to make a point about John or maybe one about himself.

"Well, you sure you don't want to use tonight to go out and find some woman to trick into going with you? I won't have my feelings hurt if you replace me."

"Only weirdos ask a stranger to come meet their family," John said. "I told you, she asked for you, Sherlock." 

"Surely you're lying, John -- I've never met anyone in your family. Why would they ask for me?"

"The blog. Harry told her about you from the blog and she wants to meet you," he said. 

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said. "Is your family so bored that they need to be inviting strangers to Christmas dinner?" He realised almost immediately that he probably shouldn't have said that, so he quickly focused on the tea.

John looked down at his own mug. "You're important to me -- you're my friend." 

Sherlock's face felt warm. "Well, yes, you're . . . mine too but friends for Christmas? That doesn't seem quite . . . traditional." He took a sip of tea. "Well, I guess I'm flattered to be the first man you've brought home." He looked over and smiled. "Sorry about being difficult. It'll be fine. I don't really care about the holiday, so it's not like I've got anything else to do."

"I know it's not traditional but it happens," John said, looking up again and hoping the moment had passed. He ignored the rest of what Sherlock said because any mention of it would leave him open to analysis, and he knew he wasn't good enough to hide from Sherlock. "Well, I think it's late enough for sleep. We'll take the first train, okay?"

"Yeah fine," Sherlock said. "But I'm totally awake now so I doubt I'll sleep. I kind of blame you." He smiled and started towards his room. And then he thought of something. "Um, John," he said softly. "I know we didn't talk about this . . . and I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have but . . . I've got you a small gift. It's nothing big but . . . should I bring it along?"

John blinked several times before he realised Sherlock was waiting for a response. "Um. Yes," he answered. He cleared his throat. "We open gifts on Christmas morning so when we get there you can add it to the tree." His brain was racing about finding something for Sherlock, about even finding a moment to actually get him something. He was touched and surprised. 

"Um . . . I'm not entirely sure it's an 'open in front of the family' type present," Sherlock mumbled. "I mean, it might put your mother off a bit to see a severed head. Or the like." He didn't look straight at John. "Look, I'll bring it -- we can always bring it back if there's not an appropriate time." He turned towards his room. "It's clear you've not got me anything. It's fine . . . I probably should have checked. I just saw it and thought of you. It's not a big deal. Good night," he called and disappeared into his room.

"What? Hold on, what kind of present is it?" John asked, watching him walk off to his room. There was no answer and he knew better than to follow. He sighed and grabbed his computer before going up to his room. If he ordered something online, it could be delivered to his mum's and then he wouldn't have to worry. But what did Sherlock get? What couldn't be opened in front of everyone? He wished he could go down and snoop but that was definitely out of the question. 

He opened the computer and started looking, thinking about Sherlock and what he needed. Or what he might want. And suddenly he was envious of that power to read people because he was stumped. He searched well into the night and by the time he found something -- even though it wasn't brilliant -- he was exhausted. He ordered it quickly, set an alarm and fell asleep with the computer still on his bed. 

When the alarm sounded, he jerked up and cursed under his breath. It had only felt like he'd been asleep for a few seconds, and he couldn't wait to get on the train and sleep there. He dressed quickly, tried to wake himself up with some cold water in the bathroom and finally headed down to the sitting room.


	2. The Arrival

Sherlock was already waiting for John. He had his bag next to him. "I'm ready," he said.

John nodded. "Let's go," he said, taking the keys and locking up before he followed Sherlock downstairs. He let Sherlock hail a cab and almost fell asleep there. "I am going to sleep on the train a bit, okay?" he told Sherlock. 

"I imagine I will as well," Sherlock said. "I didn't sleep much last night. I'm a little . . . anxious."

John lifted his head from the window and looked over at him, suddenly realising what it must be like for him. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you. I mean, I know how you are so I'll watch out for you," he said. He looked around to see where they were to spare himself the embarrassment of his comment. A bit odd of an odd thing to say maybe, but it was out now. 

"Thanks," Sherlock said. That's what made John Watson different: Sherlock could say and John would understand. He hoped that would always be true.

On the train, Sherlock settled into his seat. "I think I'll close my eyes now. But if anything happens, tell me," he said.

John nodded. He leaned against the window and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately. He snored softly, dreaming about Sherlock being left alone at his house -- only it was such a success his mum wanted to adopt Sherlock and kick John out. He woke with a start when the train shook a bit too hard and knocked his head into the window. 

Sherlock turned and looked sleepily at John. "You all right?" he mumbled as he stretched and then yawned.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Don't let my mum adopt you, okay?" 

Sherlock's face crinkled in confusion. "Okay," he said and looked up. "Your house far from the train station?"

"Only about twenty minutes if there's no traffic," John said. He checked the time. "We should be there in a few minutes -- well, to the town, anyways."

"All right," Sherlock said, straightening himself up before yawning again. "Is this one of those villages where everyone knows each other? Is it going to be that the taxi driver went to school with you, that kind of thing?"

"Yeah," John admitted. "Not the taxi driver thing, exactly, but it is a bit like that." That's why John was nervous about what his mum considered 'small' but he didn't mention that part to Sherlock. The train slowly came to a stop and John led the way out. Finding a cab was easy -- there were so many of them waiting for arrivals that they had their pick. "You're okay, yeah?" John asked, looking over at him. 

"Yeah," Sherlock said, scanning the area for . . . whatever he might find when he looked. He didn't think he found anything of much importance. He looked at the driver's face, and they climbed into the taxi. "Who will be at the house when we arrive?" he asked as they took off.

"My mum," John said, looking over at Sherlock seriously to show he wasn't trying to be an arse. "If she's invited anyone else, I don't know about it." He looked out of his window again and watched the houses passing. It was so different from London. Coming back was giving him a lot of old memories he had long since stopped thinking about. He cleared his throat for no reason. When they arrived at the house, John paid and got out, pausing in front of it for a moment. It was small and quaint and suddenly he was nervous about what Sherlock would think about it. Sherlock looked like he came from money so this . . .well, he tried not to think about it as he led the way up. He raised his hand but didn't even manage the knock, when the door opened and his mother pulled him into a hug. 

"Oh! Thank goodness you made it safely! Was it a long trip? You look exhausted, John, I really hope that you've been sleeping." Before John could say anything she turned to Sherlock and, without asking, pulling him into a hug as well. "You must be John's friend. It's so nice that you could come out as well. We've read all about you, of course, but hopefully John is embellishing a bit. Such dangerous things -- it's not good! Come in." 

John sighed as if a small tornado had just passed. He looked over at Sherlock and mouthed a quiet apology. He shut the door and hung his coat, taking Sherlock's as well. "It's best to let her get it all out and wait for the calm questioning when they usually come one at a time," he explained as they joined her in the kitchen. 

"So? Tell me how you have been! Sherlock? Is John a good flatmate? Not messy, I hope," she smiled up at him and waited for a proper answer. 

"No, no, he's very tidy," Sherlock said. She was a bit of a whirlwind, and he was doing his best to keep up. "Thank you for inviting us, me, I mean, thank you for inviting me." Sherlock glanced around the house. John hadn't been lying -- only his mum was there. This was going to be a little more difficult -- Sherlock had planned on sneaking off alone; it'd be much harder to get lost in the crowd of people unnoticed when it was just the three of them. He glanced over at John, who looked a little panicked and worried, and gave him a soft smile. 

"Of course, dear. You look like you're tidy as well," she smiled. She moved to pour the tea. "You go on all sorts of cases and mysteries, Sherlock. That must be fun!" She brought mugs over to them and joined them at the table. John smirked a little; it was obvious his mum had heard of Sherlock and not actually read the blog.

Sherlock looked over at John as if to say 'please help'. He mumbled thank you as she handed him his tea.

"Mum, so Harry won't be here for Christmas?" John asked, pulling her attention away from Sherlock for a moment. She started telling him about how Harry and Clara were going to spend the day with Clara's family.

"I don't know how well that will go -- you know how your sister is -- but Clara seems to manage," she finished, turning to Sherlock again. "Do you have siblings?" 

"I have one brother," Sherlock said. "But he's kind of . . . special needs." He glanced over at John again. "Well, no, he's not -- he's just difficult." He took a sip of tea. Then he realised he should probably say something else so he said, "You've got a lovely home. Thank you for inviting me." He was pretty sure he'd already said that, but he couldn't think of anything else.

She smiled and looked around the kitchen before looking at Sherlock again. She opened her mouth to say something, glanced and John, and then closed it again. "It's very nice to have you, dear." 

John cleared his throat lightly. "So, it's just going to be us, yeah? On Christmas day?"

"Oh yes. Christmas morning people like to be with their families and . . . loved ones," she said, glancing at Sherlock again. 

John gave her a warning look. "And no one else?"

She fiddled with her mug and moved to the sink. "There might be a few people coming tomorrow -- just the neighbours," she said quickly. 

John groaned and let his head fall onto the table. "Mum! I thought you said--"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, John! It's not a lot of people! It's just one night. Now take Sherlock out and show him the town, okay? Go on!" 

John took a slow, deep breath and looked at Sherlock. 

Sherlock glanced over at their bags. "Um, could I go to my room? I wouldn't mind a little rest and we can go out in a bit. Would that be okay? Would you like us to bring back dinner?" He realised that not only was he not being quiet, he was actually being friendlier than he'd possibly ever been, 

"Oh yes! John, show him to your room. You can have Harry's," she said. She took the mugs and started washing them. John led Sherlock to his room.

"I'm sorry about all of that. I know it's a bit much -- take all the time you need," he murmured.

Sherlock carried his bag in and set it down before looking around. "So does this room hold all the secrets of a teenaged John Watson?" He sat down on the bed and smiled. "Will you come in and stay with me for a bit?" he asked and then wondered if it sounded like a strange request.

"Oh . . . yeah sure," John said, leaving the door open as he sat on the bed with Sherlock. "There are no secrets here. Um . . . if you want to lie down, I can sit on the floor. The bed is small." He was rambling and had to physically stop himself from talking.

"I don't want to lie down, I don't think," Sherlock said. "I just panicked, I guess." He tried to sit a little more comfortably. "Are we really going out?"

"I'm sorry. I've already failed you," John said, sighing dramatically. He smiled softly and shifted to sit better now that he wasn't getting up just yet. "We don't have to go anywhere. You can 'fall asleep' and that will be that," he suggested.

"We can go out," Sherlock said. "You could show me around." He pushed his foot against John's leg. "It'll be something to do. We can't just hide up here from her. Should we invite her out to dinner?" He really had no idea why he felt so inspired to be nice. 

"Oh, if you want to. But a move like that will only make her like you even more," John smiled. Sherlock was being so different from his usual self. John found it sort of pleasing and he felt . . .well . . . a bit sweet on him. "Are you ready for that?"

"What precisely does that entail?" Sherlock said. "I don't usually do well when people like me, you know."

"Well, you've seen her already," John said. "It'll just be more of that." 

Sherlock looked around the room. "So, did you used to have sleepovers here?" He put his hands down on the bed and bounced a little. "Did you lose your virginity on this bed?"

"No, to the sleepovers," he said, avoiding the second question.

"Do you have any friends in town you'd like to see?" Sherlock asked, noting John's dodging the question. "I could stay in and read if you want to visit people without me." 

"No, I'm sure everyone is out of town -- visiting family or something. But why wouldn't I take you along?" John asked, looking over at him.

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said a little more sharply than he meant to. "I don't know how any of this works. I'm just trying to be . . . I don't know . . . I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing or kind of even why I'm here."

"You're my friend," John said quietly. "That's why. That's why you're here and that's why I would take you along."

Sherlock looked over at John and made a weak smile. "Sorry -- I know it's childish. I've just never really done anything like this. I mean it's been a long time since I had a friend at all and I've certainly never spent a Christmas with their family. We can do whatever you want." He made a move to get up. "That offer ends once we get back home, mind you, so don't go crazy with it, okay?"

John smiled and shook his head. "You're the guest so we'll do what you want. Do you want to go see the town?"

"Sure," Sherlock said. "Just for a bit. Maybe we could bring back some food for your mum?"

John grinned. "I don't know what's got into you but I like it," he said. He went to the door and grabbed his jacket, leading the way out. "We'll just walk if that's okay."

Sherlock followed John downstairs. They wrote down what his mum wanted from the chippy and headed off. The little town centre was quite busy, presumably people doing last minute shopping, but it was so very different than London. They passed a group of lads hanging around a statue. Sherlock glanced over and determined that only two were likely to eventually be criminals. "Where did you used to go -- which pub, I mean? Should we stop in and get a drink?" he asked John.

John pointed out places he used to hang out with friends, talking Sherlock's ear off about what sort of things they used to get into. He pointed out the spot in the park where he had his first kiss, leaving the details a bit vague. "One of these days we'll have to go to your hometown," he smiled. He led the way into the pub Sherlock had pointed to and took two seats at the bar, ordering for the both of them. 

"There's not much there," Sherlock said. "It's a proper tiny village and I did my best to delete most of my time there." He took a drink. "But it's interesting to learn about you, John. Now that I've got some background, much of your behaviour makes a lot more sense to me."

"What behaviour?" John asked, swirling his drink lightly as he waited for an answer. He hadn't been to this pub in so long, and it was nice to share it with Sherlock.

"Well, for example, you mentioned the captain of your rugby team and the lager he used to drink. This is the same brand as the lager you've ordered tonight and have occasionally brought into the flat. Now I know why," Sherlock explained. "Little things like that -- don't get paranoid. I haven't figured out any deep dark secrets about you. No offense, John, but you don't seem much like the deep dark secret type, do you?"

John looked at him for a moment before shrugging and taking a long drink. "You're the detective, you tell me," he said.

"You're clean," Sherlock said. "If anything, I'd guess you wished you had more secrets. Perhaps that's why you like working with me? We uncover people's secrets, don't we? You get a chance to be a part without having to take your own risks. That's why we're a good team, I think."

John smiled and looked over at him again. "Yeah, we are a pretty good team," he said. "We should start heading back with dinner."

"All right," Sherlock finished his drink and they walked to the chippy. He stood at the window watching out as they waited for their order. Then they walked back to the house.

"Boys, this is so sweet," John's mum said when they arrived. She got out some plates and silverware and guided them into the sitting room to eat.

Sherlock sat with his chips on his lap, picking a bit at them. "That's a lovely tree, Mrs Watson," he said. "We didn't put one up at the flat."

"Is there any room? I'll have to come visit one of these days," she smiled.

Sherlock looked over at John. He'd let him field any references to a visit. "It's a small flat, but not too crowded. John keeps it vey tidy. Your good housekeeping skills obviously rubbed off on him," he said instead.

"I definitely have my work cut out for me with this one," John said, pointing at Sherlock. He smiled to show he was teasing. "You can come visit in the new year, I suppose. There's not much to see."

"Well, there's London, John," Sherlock said. "We could show you round London," he added, looking over at John's mum. He leaned forward and finished his tea. "I think I might head up to bed. I didn't sleep well last night and the nap on the train doesn't count." He stood up. "Thanks again . . . both of you," he added before starting to head up.

John stood up. "Do you need anything?" he asked. When Sherlock shook his head and headed up, John sat back down and grabbed his tea again. 

"John, it's nice to see you trying again," his mum said.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Mum, no. It's not like that -- not like him." He glanced at the stairs and hoped Sherlock had got to his room. 

"Darling, it doesn't have to be like that. You're both adults and--"

 "No!" John said angrily. He swallowed hard. "We're not . . . we're just not. He isn't interested in that sort of thing anyways. We're friends." He stood up. "I think I am going to go to bed."

She sighed softly and nodded, standing up with him and taking his mug. "There's nothing wrong with things that make you happy, John."

He nodded and kissed her cheek before heading up to Harry's room. As he got ready for bed he thought about what had happened before when he was at college. He wanted to forget it all. He hoped it hadn't been a mistake bringing Sherlock here, letting him see some of his past, but he did worry about his mum's assumptions. They just had to get through a couple more days, and they could go back to normal. 

Sherlock had used the bathroom and then got straight into bed. He stared up at the ceiling for a bit, the darkness making the unfamiliar sounds seem so much louder. His mind had a little panic for a moment: why was he here? Why was he involved with these people he did not know? He closed his eyes. No. He did know John. John wasn't a stranger anymore. John was his friend. That's why he was here.

He heard what he assumed to be John's footsteps on the steps and then the door to the room next to him shut. He reached over for his phone.

_Everything okay? SH_

John reached for his phone and bit his lip, wondering if Sherlock had heard what his mum had said. For now he decided to feign ignorance and hope for the best. 

_Yes. With you too? Are you comfortable? -JW_

_A bit puzzled by my strange desire to be polite and friendly but I'm sure it will pass. SH  
_

_Hopefully not too quickly. I like friendly Sherlock. -JW_

_Don't you like usual Sherlock, despite his unfriendliness? SH_

_Yeah, I do. I guess we're both a bit puzzled. -JW_

_What's puzzling you? SH_

_My need to keep saying it. -JW_

_Keep saying what? SH_

John looked at the wall separating the two rooms. 

 _That I like you. -JW_  

Sherlock's face crinkled. What did John mean? He didn't think John said that all the time. In fact, because so few people ever said it, Sherlock was pretty sure he'd filed away every time the words came out of John's mouth and he hadn't thought it was too much. Of course, he wasn't an expert on friendship. Perhaps his inexperience had put pressure on John to say it more than usual.

_You don't need to say it if you don't want to. SH_

_It's not so bad. Perhaps I'll get used to it like you will to being nice. -JW_

John turned on his side and pulled the covers up a bit more. He didn't know what had got into either of them.

_I'm glad we're friends, John. Whether you say it or not. But my niceness stays here. Don't get used to it. I have every intention to be my unpleasant self once we return. Unless sleeping in your bed somehow brainwashes me. Should I sleep on the floor just in case? SH_

John smiled and buried his face into the pillow before he realised how silly he was being. He blamed his mum for this.

_Don't sleep on the floor. You'll be fine. I'm going to sleep now. -JW_

_All right, John Watson. Good night. SH_

Sherlock slid the phone to the table next to him and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep.

John slept a bit uncomfortably through the night and woke up too early. He headed down and started breakfast, surprising his mum who came down next. He assured her that Sherlock wasn't going to eat, but she insisted on making him a plate stacked with too many pancakes even for John. John added a large mug of tea as well knowing that would go better with Sherlock. Around the middle of the day he gave Sherlock another break by taking him out and showing him his old school, even ignoring his own nerves and showing him the rugby field as well. By the time they returned, John's package had arrived and while he wrapped the box his mum stole Sherlock and demanded stories about cases and chasing criminals. They went to bed with John thanking him again for putting up with it all.


	3. The Party

On Christmas Eve, John let Sherlock sleep while he helped his mum get ready for the party. The more jobs she assigned him, the more he was dreading the whole event. There were going to be a lot more people than he had realised. She did mention speaking with Harry and telling her that he was home for the holiday. John didn't like that too much because he'd been ignoring Harry, trying to teach her a lesson about all of her drinking. They weren't on good terms, and he hoped she didn't show up at the party to cause a scene. 

In late morning, John brought tea up to Sherlock's room and shut the door behind him. "I'd hide in here as long as possible. By the end of the night you're going to have a hard time finding 'alone time'," John said.  

Sherlock rolled over and looked at John, trying to leave his dream and wake up to the real world. He wasn't sure why but after the first night, he was sleeping more deeply and much longer than usual. Maybe this bed was just more comfortable or maybe it was just being away from his normal life, but obviously his body needed it. He reached for the tea and took a sip, nodding thank you.

Suddenly he was filled with an urge to reach over and touch John. To ask John to lie down next to him, maybe even put his arms around Sherlock and . . . cuddle him. He'd had this feeling a few times over the last few months; Sherlock had always just assumed it was inspired by boredom or . . . something else he'd yet to figure out. But he wasn't bored now. He didn't know what he was. So he tried to put it out of his mind.

"Have you prepared a dossier for me, explaining the background of every person who'll be in attendance?" Sherlock said instead, smiling a little. He wasn't really looking forward to the party; although being with John's mum had been surprisingly comfortable, Sherlock never did well with lots of people he didn't know in purely social situations.

"No, I don't care if you know about them or not. I just want us to get through the night. Tomorrow morning it will be the three of us again. We'll open presents, have a nice breakfast and go home," he said. 

"I feel I should know them, John. What if one is up to something untowards . . . perhaps a criminal? I need background, you know that." Sherlock shifted a bit in the bed, realising he needed the toilet. But it was warm and comfortable here and the minute he stood up, the countdown to the party began. "Can you at least tell me who's coming? Just family members? Harry?"

"Not Harry," John said, shaking his head. "Not much family. Neighbours, friends of my mum's . . . it's going to be properly embarrassing and long and just -- stick by me and we'll be okay," he said, trying to convince himself as well. 

"Do you think I'm likely to hear humiliating stories about you as a child? I'm kind of looking forward to that," Sherlock said.

"Hmm. I regret bringing you tea," John teased, pretending he was leaving. 

"I think I should get credit for not having asked to see any photo albums," Sherlock said, laughing a little. "Be nice or that's the first thing I'll do." He finally made a move to get up. "I want to take a shower, I think," he said. "Do I have to wear something special? Oh god -- you're not going to be wearing a Christmas jumper, are you?"

John flushed lightly and shrugged. "I might be. Don't make fun of me," he said. He left the room and came back with a towel for Sherlock. "I'll be hiding some things you don't need to be asking about," he smiled. 

"I'm not worried. I have a way of finding out whatever I need to know. I think you're aware of that," Sherlock said. He pulled out some clothes and took the towel with him. The hot water felt good and when he was finished and dressed, he went downstairs to join John and his mum.

"There you are! Now, John's being a bit sour so don't let him brood all night, okay?" She smiled and fixed Sherlock's collar even though there was really no reason to. 

"Mum, please," John sighed. She threw him a look and assigned them both to jobs, setting out the food and making sure there was plenty of room for people to sit. And then they started arriving. John was hugged and patted on the arm and passed around and he looked for Sherlock the whole time, trying to get back to where he was standing. Then he noticed Sherlock hadn't escaped the attention of some of the women and John's mum was bragging about him, about how he was here with John. John doubled his efforts to get over to him, making polite excuses. "Hello . . . yes, I'm fine . . . thank you . . . yes, excuse us . . ." He tugged Sherlock into the kitchen under the guise of getting a drink. "Are you all right?"

"Of course, I'm all right," Sherlock said. "Trust me, if I weren't, you'd know about it. Is there something in your mum's punch? Maybe I'm drunk, but so far, it's not been too bad, I guess. I've mainly just been standing there while they talk. I've barely had to say anything."

"Oh, well, that's good. I want some of that punch," he said, finishing off his own drink. Suddenly his mum was in the kitchen, looking worried. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She jumped a bit and turned to face John. "Now . . .don't get upset, dear . . . he said Harry told him you were here. . ." 

"No," John said, shaking his head. 

"It's fine, dear. I'll tell him to leave," she said. 

"No, I-it's fine," he said quietly. 

Sherlock grabbed John's arm. "What's wrong? Who is it?" He didn't like the look on John's face at all.

John slipped away from Sherlock and headed into the sitting room. "Hello," John said. It had to be done and if he went first, it was going to be better. He hoped. 

"John!" Sean leaned in and hugged him, but it was short and awkward. He pulled back quickly. "Harry said you were in town and I haven't seen you since . . .well, we all went off to uni."

"Yeah. It's been . . . I've had a lot going on," John said vaguely.

Sean nodded. "Who's that?" 

John didn't even look. "He's my friend," he said. His usual response. It was true, of course, but the words came out as naturally as breathing.  

Sean nodded slowly. "Just your friend?"

John flushed and nodded. "What's with you and my mum?" he muttered. 

"Look, I can't stay long -- I just wanted to come see you and catch up but . . . there's not much to say, is there?" Sean caught his eye. "I'm sorry, if that means anything."

John nodded. "Yeah . . . me too," he said. 

Sean turned to leave but paused for a moment. "I read the blog," he said, smiling softly. "Don't let our . . .thing . . . ruin you, John." He walked off before John could respond. John turned and headed for the kitchen again, intent on finding a proper drink. Their friendship, the blog . . . everyone kept mentioning the same things -- why? What did they see?

His mum pulled Sherlock close. "They used to date," she said quickly before John came in. "John? Are you all right?"

"Yes. He couldn't stay. He just came to say hello. Do you have alcohol?"

"Oh, stop that. Sherlock, do something, please." She left them alone, going to join the guests. 

Sherlock had literally no idea what to do. Or say. So for a moment he just stood there stupidly.

Then he moved over and got John a drink. He handed it to him. Then he said softly, "What do you want me to do?"

"What? Nothing," John said, taking a big drink. "About what?" 

"Don't, John," Sherlock said, tipping his head down close to John's. "Don't lie. Something is wrong. Let me help."

John stepped back a bit. "Nothing is wrong. I was surprised . . . that's all," he said. He smiled a bit weakly.

Sherlock looked over John's face. It was clear that he wasn't going to get any more information from John right now, which was frustrating because he had a thousand questions. He turned and poured himself a drink as well. "All right then," he said. "Shall we go back in?"

"Yes," John said, glad that Sherlock had decided to drop it. His mum was watching him, but he didn't look over at her. He just wanted to let it all go. 

When they went back in, Sherlock scanned the room looking for a man who had not been there before. He found him. He was handsome, though Sherlock wasn't sure why that's the first thing he'd noticed. "Who's that?" Sherlock said, moving towards the man. "A cousin?"

John pulled Sherlock's arm. He said he was leaving -- why was he still here? "He's . . . no one. Come get another drink with me," he said.

"Hmmm, he's quite a looker," Sherlock said, trying to lighten the moment. "Should I go talk to your mother about him then?"

"No!' John said loudly. "No. Just . . .come get a drink with me. He's leaving." 

"Aren't you going to give him a kiss goodbye?" Sherlock said, smiling. "You've kissed everyone else, I mean."

John threw him a look. "Oh, very funny. I'm sure you and my mum had a good laugh," he said. 

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"She told you who he was," John said, finishing his drink. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"Deep dark secret indeed," Sherlock said. "Anything else I should know?"

"No. And I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself," John said. He moved to the kitchen to get another drink. 

Sherlock followed him. "Don't be like that," Sherlock said. "Surely you must see the irony? Mrs Hudson was right." He smiled imagining her face.

"No! Don't tell her -- just, don't tell anyone," John said. Teasing was the last thing he'd expected from Sherlock, but this has been part of the reason he hadn't wanted Sherlock -- or anyone -- to know.

"Obviously, I wouldn't," Sherlock said, his voice changing slightly. "Don't be like that, John. I was teasing, but I'm not horrible." He poured himself another drink as well. "I guess I just thought I knew you and now it appears, I don't."

"Of course you know me," John said. "That doesn't change much . . . doesn't change anything, really." 

Sherlock looked over at John. Somehow it did feel like something had changed, but Sherlock wasn't sure why or what. Was he just being stupid? Is it because he'd been drinking? "All right then," he said. "All right."

"All right," John nodded. "So...your present came yesterday. I did get you something." 

"You didn't have to. I told you," Sherlock said. He looked over at John and smiled. "Why did you get me one?"

"Because I wanted to," John said. "You got me one," he smiled. 

"Since when do you do something just because I do it?" Sherlock asked.

"I didn't just because you did. I just didn't know we were," John said. 

"Well then I suppose we're even then," Sherlock said. "Now everyone knows everything."

John's mum came over. "Your faces are both flushed. Perhaps you should slow down on the drinking," she said. "It's just . . . it’s been nice not having to worry about that sort of thing. You two aren't going to cause a scene, are you?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said, taking a step towards her and realising he was actually a bit drunk. He took a deep breath to gather himself as he lifted his arm to wrap round John's shoulder. "We're both fine, we'll both be fine. Won't we, John?"

 John ducked away and punched his arm playfully. "Of course we will," he smiled. 

"I hope so," she said and turned back around.  
  
Sherlock turned to face John. "Will we, though, John, be fine? Even though you're wrong about things having changed?" This time he lifted both arms and rested them on John's shoulders.

John tilted his head a bit and suddenly it felt like something _had_ changed. "I . . .we'll be fine," he said again. He glanced at Sherlock's hands. "Are you dizzy?"

"No," Sherlock said, not moving just yet. "I won't deny that I'm a little drunk, but it's nothing to worry about. You're not worried, are you?"

"No, I'm not worried. Are you?" John asked. 

"No, I suppose I'm inspired," Sherlock said. He glanced up out into the sitting room. "When does this party end?"

"I don't know," John said. "People just leave when they want to. What are you inspired about?"

"I don't know precisely," Sherlock said, stepping back and taking a drink. "Perhaps it's just the holiday spirit." He looked over at John. "And how are you feeling? Inspired?"

John shook his head. "I'm a bit confused to be honest," he smiled. 

"But you still like me, don't you? I've just realised the other night you claimed you couldn't stop yourself from saying it and quite frankly I've not heard you say it for quite some time."

"I . . .yes, I still like you," John said, flushing a bit at remembering that conversation. It had been easier in the dark over texting. 

"Good, John Watson, good," Sherlock said. "I like you too." He finished his drink. "I'm ready for this party to be over, but I'll behave appropriately until everyone's gone. Promise." He pulled John's arm and they went back into the sitting room. He glanced round and that man had gone. He caught the eye of John's mum and he smiled.

John allowed himself to be pulled back into the room, now much less crowded than the last time he'd been in here. He started talking to a woman, not noticing that his mother was smiling at Sherlock and pointing to a clump of mistletoe by the door. She was grinning happily. 

Sherlock saw what John's mother was doing. He walked over to where John was standing, smiled and grabbed the woman's arm, motioning to the mistletoe. He gave her a kiss and said, "Happy Christmas." He glanced at John and then moved over to the corner and sat down where it was a bit quieter.

He looked round the room at all of the strangers. It was strange -- he'd seen parties like this on television but he really never thought he'd be at one. He looked over at John and realised he'd never really thought he'd have someone like John either. He smiled at John's hideous jumper. And then an image of John and that man flashed in his mind. Strange -- John really had fooled Sherlock. He hadn't known at all, he really hadn't. John Watson. Full of surprises. Sherlock took another sip of his drink.

John's mum pouted and shook her head, pointing to John. But she was pulled into a conversation and forgot about Sherlock for a moment. John wandered over to Sherlock. "Why are you kissing guests?" he smiled. 

"Holiday spirit," Sherlock said. "Are you pouting because you didn't get your turn?"

John rolled his eyes and smiled. "Not necessary," he said. 

"Shame," Sherlock said lightly. "Am I allowed to go outside for a cigarette?"

John pulled a sour face. "It was such a good night," he whined playfully. "Just don't let my mum see you."

"Will you come with me?"

John glanced around. She seemed busy enough. "All right, but we'll have to go out back," he said. 

Sherlock followed John outside. He leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. "So. . ." he said, blowing his smoke out and looking up into the sky.”You don't fancy me then?"  
  
"What? Sherlock I'm not--" He cut off suddenly, his response automatic like breathing. "Stop teasing now," he said.

"I'm not teasing," Sherlock said. "What's wrong with me then?" He thought of the man from earlier. He didn't look anything like Sherlock. "I'm just not your type?"

"I don't have a type," John said, leaning against the wall. "And there's nothing wrong with you. Why are you being so insistent?"

"Because . . . you don't think there's something . . . special about our friendship? I'm just wondering why this never came up." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "It's all right. It's fine if you don't fancy me. It's your right."

John glanced over at Sherlock. "Why are you asking me this?" he asked quietly.

"Curiosity," Sherlock said. "You clearly know I'm not interested in women. The whole time you've lived with me you've insisted you're not gay, which we now know not to be not entirely true. Your not fancying me is the only reason I can think of for why you've never mentioned being . . . open to certain things. So I was just curious if my deduction was correct."

"But why does it matter? You don't do that sort of thing anyways," John said. 

"I've not for a while," Sherlock said. "That's true."

John licked his lips. "And now?" he asked quietly. 

"You tell me."

John stared at the ground, shaking his head. "I can't," he murmured. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He stubbed his cigarette onto the bricks and tossed it over the garden wall. "I think I'll go up to bed. Tell your mum I said thank you and good night." He headed inside.  
  
John stood outside for a little while longer. When he finally went inside he went to his mum to say good night, thanking her before going up to bed. He could tell that she wanted to talk -- to ask if he was okay -- but he didn't give her the chance. He went up to bed and shut the door, changing and climbing into bed. Now that he lay in the quiet he realised everything had been a bit exhausting.

Sherlock listened to John come upstairs. He was lying on the bed trying to make sense of everything that had happened since they'd come here. He'd thought maybe he'd finally understood why John was so different, why Sherlock liked him so much. And John's mum's information -- well, that was a perfect coincidence, wasn't it? But why wasn't John interested at all? And had Sherlock just ruined everything with the things he'd said?

Sherlock's stomach hurt, and he wished more than anything that he was in his own bed at home. But he wasn't. He was in John's bed in John's mum's house and it was Christmas Eve and there was no way they were going to be able to leave. He reached over for his phone.  
  
 _I'm sorry. I guess I've just misunderstood everything. SH_

John wondered why Sherlock was . . .well, was he flirting? He didn't understand really but after finding out about John's past he assumed some teasing would follow. He knew Sherlock didn't really do relationships so he couldn't have been serious. And even if he was . . . well, he didn't know what happened. Why John couldn't do this. He reached for his phone when he heard it, furrowing his brows. 

_Misunderstood what? -JW_

Sherlock looked at the phone. Wasn't it obvious? Was John saying Sherlock hadn't misunderstood? This was too confusing.

_Could you come in here, please? SH_

John got up and put his t-shirt on before going next door, knocking softly before letting himself in. "What's wrong?"

"Will you sleep in here with me?" Sherlock asked quietly. "Please? I want you to."

"I . . .why?" John asked, taking a step back. He was wringing his fingers, looking down at the ground. 

"You know why," Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "I don't. I can't," he said again. 

"But you have," Sherlock said into the dark room.

"I know but . . .that was . . .something else," he said stupidly. He knew it didn't make sense but he didn't know how to explain.

"So he's better than me?" Sherlock asked. He shifted a bit in the bed, turning away from John. "I thought this was why you mean so much to me . . . why you're so different than anyone else." He swallowed and added, "I thought . . . we loved each other."

John blinked into the dark and leaned back against the wall. He didn't know what to say. His mind flashed back to the last time he tried this with a man and he shook his head. It would be too hard. People wouldn't understand. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He slipped out and went back into his own room, leaning against the door as his eyes burned and spilled over. As much as he told himself, it would be different he couldn't make himself do it.

Sherlock lay silently in the empty room. It was horrible, it was all horrible. Feelings were so confusing which is why he'd decided many years ago to push them all away. Which had helped. Until John came along and those feelings couldn't be ignored, couldn't be shut up in a box and pushed to the back of a cupboard. And now he'd spoken them aloud and John had said no and left the room but Sherlock couldn't leave, he had to stay here and tomorrow morning wake up and see John here in John's mum's house and spend Christmas day together and know that John didn't love him back.


	4. Christmas Day

Sherlock barely slept. He tried to go into his mind palace but even that confused him because John lived there too now. John was everywhere and Sherlock couldn't escape him even though that was precisely what he wanted to do. Eventually he got up and wondered if he could sneak downstairs to make himself a cup of tea. He passed by Harry's room, which seemed quiet, and headed down to the kitchen.

But the kitchen wasn't quiet. John's mum was up and about. She looked up and said, "Everything okay?"

"I just wanted a cup of tea," Sherlock said quietly.

"I'll get it," she said, moving to turn the kettle on. She looked over at Sherlock. "Well, you've caught me -- I was setting out a few gifts. I guess now you know that Father Christmas isn't real. I hope I haven't ruined everything for you." She gave him a little smile. She got out a cup and saucer and a few biscuits. Once she poured the tea, she pushed it all over to Sherlock. "Did you not sleep well? I hope John's bed wasn't too uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Sherlock said. "Everything's fine." He fiddled with one of the biscuits.

"Maybe it's not my place, but you don't seem fine. If you want to talk . . ."  
  
Sherlock looked up at her. It really didn't seem like he could get out of this so he just said, "I think, well, I think John and I have had an argument, that's all. I'm sure it will be fine."

"Is this about the boy that was here last night?" she asked, sitting down next to him.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said, staring down at his plate. "I think . . . yes."

"Sherlock . . . has John told you about Sean? About what happened?" she asked.

Sean -- there was something about the name which made Sherlock hate him. No, that was stupid, Sherlock thought. "No, he hasn't," he said aloud.

She licked her lips and glanced at the door. "They used to date in college. John was reluctant but they were so lovely together. He was happy while they kept it quiet." She took a sip of her tea. "Sean insisted they tell everyone and things got . . .bad. Their teammates were making awful jokes, they refused to share a locker room with them, and they would warn the other teams about what tackling them might cause . . ." She looked at Sherlock. "It was juvenile things, you know, but John's always been so private anyway. He broke it off and I've only seen him with girls since then. The safe choice. But with you . . .I can see the old John again, the happy one. He's just scared . . ."

Sherlock's mind went quickly through his time with John, every "I'm not gay," every horrible date John had been on. Then he thought of every time John had looked at him in that way -- those quick second-long looks that had told Sherlock something was different. John had known too. But for John, it wasn't just about being uncomfortable with feelings. It was about being afraid of those feelings. Why hadn't Sherlock figured it out on his own? "I'm sure we'll be fine," he finally said.

She patted his arm and got up to start breakfast. Just then John came down, smiling awkwardly. "Didn't open presents without me, did you?" he joked, sitting beside Sherlock.

"No, love. Let's go now," she said, leading the way.

John glanced at Sherlock and followed her. Sherlock tried to look at John, but he was a bit overwhelmed by this new information and by, well, yes, his feelings, so he kept his eyes on his cup as he moved to the sitting room.

John gave his mum her present -- a beautiful watch and a book token. She gave John a new winter coat and even had a box for Sherlock with a new scarf.

"Thank you so much," Sherlock said, feeling bad he had nothing to offer her.

John found his package and handed it to Sherlock. "Merry Christmas," he murmured.

Sherlock slowly unwrapped the gift. It was an antique magnifying glass with his initial engraved on it. "John, it's . . . lovely. Perfect. Thank you," he said, now looking over. He wanted to say a million more things but he didn't. "Yours are upstairs. I'll go get them," he said, rushing upstairs.

"You're welcome," John said, watching Sherlock run off. His mum came over and sat by him, holding his hand. John had a feeling they'd been talking before he got up but he didn't ask. He just waited.

Sherlock returned with two presents wrapped in newspaper. He set one on the table and handed the other to John. "They're just . . . silly, I don't know why I bought them, but . . ." he sat in the chair opposite and looked down at the floor.

John smiled softly and opened a mug that said "World's Best Blogger." He smiled. "Thank you," he said, showing it to his mum. It was uncharacteristically cheesy -- sweet but cheesy. Is that why Sherlock had been so shy about it?

John picked up the next one, opening it slowly. His smiled faltered a bit, reading the words "Watson and Holmes, est. 2010." His chest felt warm pleasantly. "I don't . . . I'm afraid I don't understand this one." He looked over at Sherlock. 

"It's for the door, you know," Sherlock said awkwardly. This was so excruciating -- he wasn't sure why it'd been so important for him to buy it in the first place, but now it just seemed embarrassing. "Um, so when people come to the flat they'll know, you know, that . . . we're partners."

John's mouth fell open a bit in surprise. He would have thought, given that Sherlock did most of the work, that anything about their business would have Sherlock's name on it alone, or at least as the main attraction. But this . . . it made him overwhelmingly happy and guilty at the same time. "This is not silly, Sherlock. I . . .thank you. Really I . . . I don't know what to say," he stammered quietly.  

"Well," Sherlock said but he didn't add anything else because he didn't know what to say. His face felt warm, and his head was confused. He put his mug up to his face and held it so he felt its heat against his skin.

John's mum got up quietly to go start breakfast. John was still looking down at the plaque. _Watson and Holmes._ John felt his stomach contract again, and he set the gift down gently. "I'm going to help with breakfast. We can leave afterwards," he said. 

"Whenever you want," Sherlock mumbled. "I think I'll go shower." He went upstairs and tidied up the bedroom, packing his clothes into his bag. He sat down and looked at the magnifying glass. It was so nice. He packed it carefully and set it on top of his clothes. He headed into the bathroom for his shower.

John went up to shower after him, wondering what Sherlock and his mum had been talking about in the kitchen. He came down with his own bag, setting it on the sofa while he started his goodbye.  

"Already?" his mum asked, but not as strong-willed as she usually would have. She knew something was going on, and she understood that they needed to go. 

"I'll see you again soon, yeah? Sherlock's promised you a tour of London," he said, smiling softly. He moved to let Sherlock have his turn, carefully packing away his mug and plaque. 

"Thank you for your hospitality," Sherlock said to her. "It was lovely to meet someone in John's family."  
  
She pulled him into a hug and whispered, "Look after him."  
  
Sherlock wanted to say that he would but he didn't know if he could make that promise. He didn't know if John would give him a chance to -- if John would even want to stay in the flat with him anymore. He patted her back and then pulled away.

"Bye, mum." John waved and headed out first, hailing a cab while Sherlock followed. He tried to act as if it was all normal. "Well, we survived," he teased lightly.  

"I hope so," Sherlock said softly. He got into the taxi and leaned his head against the window.

John looked over at him before looking down at his hands. "Sorry," he murmured, looking out of his own window. He stayed quiet for the rest of the drive, even as they got into the train and headed for home. He hoped this would pass and they could be okay again. 


	5. Home

When they finally made it back to the flat, Mrs Hudson came stepped out of her door to greet them, but Sherlock walked straight past her and up the stairs. He put the kettle on and took his bag into his room. When he came back out, he poured two cups, taking one and going back into his room. He shut the door.

John said a soft hello to Mrs Hudson and wished her a merry Christmas before heading upstairs. He flinched when Sherlock shut his door. He took his mug of tea and sat down in his chair, closing his eyes. 

Sherlock sat down on his bed, squeezing the mug so tightly his fingers began to ache. He didn't know what to do. Sherlock Holmes didn't know what to do. And he hated that feeling more than almost anything else.

John stayed in his chair until he finished his tea. Then he got up and went to wash his mug, moving to Sherlock's door. "Do you want Chinese for dinner?" he asked. 

Sherlock stood up and went to his door but didn't open it. "I don't think so, John," he said. "I don't --" he swallowed, not sure precisely what he wanted to say. "Um, I'm not hungry."

John put his hand on the door. "Do you want me to get you something else?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "What's going to happen now, John?"

John lowered his hand and leaned his head on the door instead. "I don't know, Sherlock. I want . . . I want us to be okay."

"I'm sorry for the things I said," Sherlock said. "But they were true and I don't know how we can go back to before I said them."

"Sherlock . . . I appreciate it . . .I do," he murmured. "I just . . . I can't."

"Why John? I know I'm not good at feelings, but something is different between us -- you must see that. What's wrong with me that you can't when . . .you could with him?"

"But I couldn't make it work with him!" John said. "I tried and . . . and it was bad," he finished quietly. 

"Then it was him, he wasn't the right one, John," Sherlock said softly. He swallowed. "Maybe I am."

"But people . . . they don't understand," John mumbled. "It's so hard . . . and-and we'll never be happy." 

Sherlock opened the door. "What people?" he asked.

John stepped back as he looked up in surprise. "I -- just people. Everyone," he said. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said. "This doesn't have anything to do with anyone but you and me. And maybe him."

"No! I know she told you what happened. I can't. I can't do it again," he stammered, his back hitting the wall of the hall now. 

Sherlock stepped out. "John, please, listen to me." He moved forward and held John's arms to steady him. "Take three deep breaths, please." He looked down, trying to meet John's eye. "I wasn't there. I don't know exactly what happened. But you are not the same person as you were then. You have done so much -- you have been brave and strong and saved lives. Including mine. You are not who you were. And I am not him. Don't say we can't be happy -- I am happy right now. With you. No matter what you decide. Watson and Holmes, John. That's all that matters."

John looked up, his breath fast and shallow. He knew Sherlock was right. They were adults. Their friends were not immature teenagers. _They_ were not immature teenagers. "I . . ." His head was stuck, hearing the voices telling him they didn't want to have him on the team, like he was sick. "I . . . I don't know," he mumbled, looking down. "It's going to be hard, Sherlock . . . explaining it all."

"Harder than the things you've already had to explain about our relationship? About why I'm so rude, about why half the things I say don't seem to make sense, about why there are body parts around the flat? About why you put up with my behaviour? You've been able to handle all of those explanations, John," Sherlock said. He moved closer, almost pressing against John.

"I-I know," John said quietly, looking up at him again. "You're right. I know that . . ." He shook his hands free and brought them to Sherlock's cheek, holding his gaze. "I love you too, Sherlock. I do." 

"Are you sure, John?" Sherlock said. "It's okay if you don't . . . if that's the real reason, it's okay. I just want you to be sure."

John nodded. "I don't want to be afraid, Sherlock. Because if I lose you . . . that's going to be harder than anything else." He held Sherlock's gaze, trying to pull his courage from there. If Sherlock, who claimed he didn't do relationships, wanted to try then, why couldn't he?

Sherlock slid his arms around John, pulling him in close. "I want to make you happy. I don't want you to ever be afraid."

"I believe you," John murmured, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. "Everything will be different now."

"In some ways," Sherlock said. "In other ways, I've a feeling we'll be precisely the same."

"I'm nervous but I don't want to be scared," John admitted. 

"Come on," Sherlock said. "We're home -- there's no need to be nervous." He pulled John into the kitchen and refilled the kettle. "Let's just be normal for a bit."

John sat down at the kitchen table and watched Sherlock making tea. "She told you about before, right?" 

"A little," Sherlock said. "She also said she thought you loved me."

"I do," John said. "I think I have for a while."

"You've hidden it well, you fool," Sherlock said, handing him a mug.

"Well, I thought it would always be . . . like that," John said, pulling the mug closer. 

"I don't know how it'll be, John," Sherlock said. "Shall we just try and find out?"

John nodded. He took a sip of his tea and smiled at him. "Yeah, I would like that." 

"Will you sleep with me in your bed tonight or are you going to turn me down again?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll sleep with you," he said. "I wanted to that night."

"Is this how it's always going to be -- you say the opposite of what you actually mean?" Sherlock asked, smiling. "Because if it is, that's going to be quite confusing for me."

"No," John smiled. "It's just that night I knew what it would mean and I wasn't ready for that. I thought I never would be again."

"But you are now?" Sherlock asked.

"I want to be. With you," he said, meeting his gaze again. 

"Let's go to your room then," Sherlock said, setting his mug down.

"Now? Oh," he said, taking one more sip and getting up. "Okay." He took Sherlock's hand and led the way up to his room. He opened the door for Sherlock and followed him in. 

Sherlock pulled John towards him. "Just sleep," he said. He moved over towards the bed and started to take off his clothes before sliding under the covers.

John followed his lead and stripped down to his pants, getting into the bed with Sherlock. "Sleep," he nodded. 

Sherlock scooted closer to John. "Let me put my arms around you, please," he said quietly.

John nodded, scooting closer to Sherlock and curling against him, tucking his head under his chin. He slid one of his own arms around Sherlock's waist. It was nice -- he felt safe here.

"This is good," Sherlock said. He stroked John's back lightly with one hand. "Do you feel okay about it?"

"Yes," John murmured.

"Could I maybe kiss you?"

John lifted his head a bit, keeping it tucked in Sherlock's neck. "Yeah . . . I would like that," he murmured, pulling out slowly.

Sherlock lifted his hand and stroked the back of John's head. He pressed his lips against John's, softly. It felt good -- natural, comfortable and just good.

John was filled with an overwhelming calm as he kissed Sherlock back. Whatever was stuck in his head about his first relationship with a man seemed to melt away. There was no anxiety or worry. There was only them and this lovely feeling. He laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair lightly.

Sherlock pulled back and put another soft kiss on John's forehead. "Everything still okay?" he whispered.

John nodded, closing his eyes at the kiss and meeting Sherlock's eyes again. "I'm sorry . . .I'm sorry I was so stupid," he said.

"You weren't stupid, just frustrating," Sherlock said, smiling again. "Shall we have a nap now?"

John leaned in and kissed him softly, just because he could now. "Okay. I know I didn't sleep well last night -- I'm assuming you didn't either?"

"I didn't but I just want to rest for a bit. I know it's too early for bed time, but let's just stay here like this for a little bit," Sherlock said. He just wanted everything to be soft and comfortable for John and for himself as well. For both of them.

"That sounds nice. I don't mind lying here with you even if we don't sleep," John said.

Sherlock curled into John a bit and closed his eyes. It was strange how, in his mind, John had meant comfort, but now it was happening for real. He let his eyes close and just rested against John.

John slept comfortably with Sherlock and woke up feeling very good. They ordered dinner and, when John went down to pick up the food, Mrs Hudson came out to ask about New Year's Eve. Before he'd been invited to his mum's, John had mentioned possibly having a small party. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea now.

When he took the food upstairs, he floated the idea to Sherlock, who was a little iffy about it. John promised it would be small.

"Didn't your mother also promise that Christmas Eve would be a small party?" Sherlock asked, fiddling with his food.

"But I mean it," John said. "Just close friends."

"And is this going to be our coming out party then?" Sherlock asked.

John didn't say anything. Obviously when he'd originally suggested it to Mrs Hudson, he had no idea what would happen on Christmas and how it would change everything. Of course, he felt good about who he was and what had happened -- he didn't regret anything. But it was so soon. He looked up at Sherlock who was looking back at him. Sherlock loved him. He loved Sherlock. "Maybe," he said and smiled.

They spent the rest of the week alone together, only contacting the outside world to invite them to the party and to go out and do their shopping. They slept together every night, kissing and cuddling, and it was the best sleep either of them had ever had.


	6. New Year's Eve

On the morning of New Year's Eve, they slept late. Sherlock woke first, rolling over and staring at John's face until he too woke up.

"Morning," John mumbled sleepily.

"Good morning," Sherlock said. "I just wanted to tell you something. I know . . . well, I know a little of what's happened to you in the past, so if you don't want to tell anyone or just not tell them yet, I'm okay with that. I like to keep my private life private anyway, so if you want it to stay a secret we can."

John smiled softly and shook his head, touching Sherlock's cheek softly. "Sherlock, I love you and I want everyone to know. I'm nervous but . . . not more than I am excited. Our friends are not my college friends and it's going to be okay."

"Shall I leave it up to you?" Sherlock asked. Obviously he was somewhat inspired by the fact that he couldn't imagine himself making an announcement of such a personal nature, but stronger was his desire to make sure John was all right with all this. Since returning from John's mum's, Sherlock had loved every moment of their time together: he knew comfort in a way not only had he never known before, he'd never even known it was an option before. He wanted John to do only what John felt comfortable doing.

John nodded. "I can make the announcement," he smiled. "We should start getting things ready, I suppose. As well as ourselves." He said that but made no move to get up just yet.

Sherlock curled around John and kissed his mouth and then neck. "I like kissing you," he mumbled against his skin.

John closed his eyes and bit his lip lightly. "I like it too . . . and I like kissing you, of course."

"Should we cancel the party and stay in bed?" Sherlock said, before quickly pulling back and saying, "I'm teasing. But please don't make me be a . . . host. Can I just be at my flat and people happen to come by? I prefer thinking of it that way."  
  
"You can think of it however you like. But we really should get ready." John sat up and stretched, swinging his legs to the side and sitting there for a moment. He smiled, looking back at Sherlock. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled at John in a way that said that he loved John, too. He had said it before and he did mean it, but it was still a little unusual for him to feel it and even more unusual to say it. "Fine," he said. "I'll shower first, okay?"

John nodded. "I'll go make some tea," he said. He put on a t-shirt and headed down to start the kettle.

Sherlock pulled out his clothes for evening and headed into the bathroom. When he was ready, he came out and grabbed some tea while John got ready. When he came downstairs, he looked incredibly handsome so Sherlock said, "You look incredibly handsome."

John was practising his speech in the shower, trying to find the best way to make the announcement. When he came down and Sherlock said what he said, his anxiety faded and he figured when the moment was right, he would know it. "You do too," he said, smoothing out Sherlock's shirt for the sole purpose of touching him. 

Mrs Hudson came up first with more food that she'd prepared and before long Molly and Greg had arrived as well. As they were finishing their meal, John asked Sherlock if he would play something for them after. He had an idea -- a bit dramatic -- but he was excited.

Sherlock was a bit surprised but he retrieved his violin and tried to remember a Christmas song he had learned in school. [**He played a shorter version, but of course got it just right**](http://youtu.be/Q4UP9C5Xxwk).

John watched him playing and let the music calm him down. When it was over he stood up and kissed Sherlock's mouth. "That was beautiful, love." And then he sat down as if he hadn't done anything unusual.

Sherlock kissed John and squeezed his arm. He put away his violin and picked up his drink, before slipping down into his chair. He looked up and saw everyone staring, a bit open-mouthed. He looked over at John and smiled.

"Yes well, that's a thing now. So . . . any interesting cases?" John asked Lestrade, who took a moment before clearing his throat and answering. He started going on about a kidnapping they were following, and John settled back and breathed slowly. It was fine. No one was being mean or rude. It was okay.

Mrs Hudson came and sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair. She leaned down and put a kiss on his head, whispering, "I told you so. Didn't I say it from day one?"  
  
"Shush, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. He stood up and retrieved a bottle of champagne from the cupboard above the fridge. "John, can you get the glasses?" he asked, as he worked on opening it up.

John smiled and nodded, getting the glasses and bringing them over for everyone.

Sherlock lifted his glass and said "To friends." He clinked his glass with John's, took a sip and then leaned over and gave John a kiss.

John smiled and took a sip, grinning wildly at everyone.

The rest of the party went well -- Sherlock was certain he saw glances being exchanged every time he and John touched and he knew Greg and Molly would have a good chat about the news in the taxi they shared when they left. But he didn't really care. He could blame it on the drink -- the group finished a few bottles of wine as well as the champagne -- but he knew it wasn't the alcohol. His liberal display of affection was because he was happy. He really was.

John spent the rest of the party only really half there, the other half lost in his own happiness. This is what it was supposed to be like and everything that had happened when he was younger was in the past now. Young, immature, and unsure. But now . . . now it was so different. He knew how he felt about Sherlock -- he knew that it was real and right and that it was going to be so good. He wanted to show him, show him how much he loved him. When everyone finally left John found Sherlock cleaning up glasses from the sitting room. He took the glasses from his hands, set them down again and then leaned up and kissed him hard.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss and then pulled back. "Did the party go as you wanted it to?" he asked, wrapping his arms around John's waist.

John nodded, pulling him down into another kiss. "Let's clean later," he murmured, his fingers already working Sherlock's buttons open.

"All right," Sherlock following John to the bedroom. John's hands were roaming over Sherlock as they walked.

John shut the door and pushed Sherlock's shirt away, watching it drop before kissing along his neck and down to his shoulder.

"John, what's happening? What's got into you?" Sherlock said, stepping back just a bit.

John made to follow -- to keep his lips on Sherlock's skin because it was so good and he never wanted to stop. But what if he'd misread Sherlock? He looked up and met his gaze. "I love you," he said quietly. 

This time Sherlock said it. "I love you, too, John." He pulled on John's jumper. "Are we going to bed right now?"

John nodded, lifting his arms so his jumper would come off. Hearing Sherlock say the words out loud -- with his name so there was no doubt -- made him even happier. "I feel so . . .so alive, Sherlock. I want you -- I want to show you how much I love you," he rambled, kissing his chest now as he pulled at Sherlock's button on his trousers. They were still standing by the door but he didn't care. He licked over Sherlock's nipple, kissing his way across to the other one.  

"John," Sherlock said, but he wasn't sure if it was a question or an answer. He let out a small gasp at the feel of John's mouth on his chest. "Let's take all our clothes off," he said quietly.

"M'getting there," he said, pushing Sherlock's trousers down and pulling his hips to make him step out of them. Sherlock was so sexy that John's mouth and hands couldn't keep up. Each was distracting and needing too much. He tugged Sherlock's pants, but half way through John was kissing his cheek and up the other side of his neck. 

Sherlock pulled John down onto the bed, rolling a bit over him to suck on his neck. He let his hand move to John's hip. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.

John nodded. "Don't make me overthink it," he murmured, dipping down. "Just kiss me." As their mouths met he started opening his own trousers. 

Sherlock kissed John's mouth hard as he used his hand to help get John's trousers off. Then he pulled their bodies further onto the bed and helped John take off the rest of his clothes.

John moaned softly and straddled Sherlock's thighs, taking a moment to admire his body. He was so sexy. He leaned down and continued kissing along his sternum where he'd left off, making his way lower along his belly. 

"John, that feels so good," Sherlock said softly. He reached down and touched John's shoulder.

"That's what I want -- to make you feel good," John said. He nipped Sherlock's groin softly before licking up Sherlock's shaft, gripping the base and tipping him into his mouth.

"Fuck," Sherlock said, lifting his head and looking down. "God, John . . . fuck." He had to lie back down and lift a hand over his face, as if the sight of it was just too much.

John moved slowly, adjusting to the size as he hummed softly. It had been a very long time but he hoped it was good.

"Please, John," Sherlock moaned softly. "It feels so . . . you're good."

John moved a bit faster, took him a bit deeper before slowly coming off. "I need the things from my drawer," he murmured, moving up his body again.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said. All of a sudden it felt like his brain didn't work anymore.

"The condoms and lube," John murmured. "Unless . . . don't you want to?"

"Yes, of course, sorry . . . I'm distracted by your mouth," Sherlock said. "Where are they? Should I get them?"

John sighed with relief and shook his head. He reached up and grabbed them from the drawer, moving between Sherlock's legs. He pushed them open slowly and poured some lube onto his fingers. "I've never actually . . . just let me know if I'm doing it wrong, okay?" He touched Sherlock's entrance, pressing lightly as he spread the lube.

"Just go slow," Sherlock said, partly because it'd been so long since he'd done this but also because he was worried he'd explode just from John's touch. He lay back flat on the bed but reached down to try to touch John's hair.

John nodded as he slowly pushed his finger into Sherlock's body. He leaned up to meet Sherlock's hand, kissing his belly as he started to move his hand slowly. 

"Yes, that's good, John," Sherlock said, breathing slowly to adjust to the invasion. He remembered the feeling, of course, but it was different this time -- it was John. He focused on John's kisses for a moment, and then his body started to relax and he could feel an urge to rock his hips. "Keep going," he said softly.

John nodded and added a second finger, making sure they could move easily in and out before he started to slowly spread them out to open Sherlock. "I love you so much," he said. 

"I love you too," Sherlock moaned softly. "It feels good -- it's you . . ."

John was already leaking as he worked Sherlock open, imagining what they would do next, watching his fingers moving now. "Are you . . .tell me when . . ." he said urgently.

"I'm ready but go slow," Sherlock breathed out. "I'm already close, John . . . the whole thing is just . . . making me crazy." He tried to look up at John and when he saw his face, he smiled. His smile got wider and then he made a little laugh. "We're going to have sex, John," he almost giggled. "You sure you're okay with that?"

John laughed softly with him before coming up to kiss his mouth hard. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said. He pulled his fingers out slowly and rolled on a condom, lining up with Sherlock. He was so gorgeous -- and that smile -- John was lost. He pushed in slowly, biting his lip with the effort to keep slow and steady for the moment. 

"Okay, stop for a second," Sherlock exhaled. "Can you just . . ." He reached up and tried to pull John's body closer to his. He kissed his face softly. He thought about what was happening -- how it was such a big thing they were doing but he didn't regret it and hoped he never would. "Okay, move slowly at first, okay?" He took a deep breath and slipped a hand between them just to hold himself. 

John nodded, pushing the rest of the way in. He pulled out slowly and pushed in again, moving slowly until Sherlock adjusted to him. When he moved more easily, he started a steady pace, still slow for the moment. It was tight and hot and so very intense. "Sherlock . . . fuck," he moaned softly. 

The feeling of fullness was so . . . much, so intense, that Sherlock couldn't make words. He let his body totally respond to John's movements, which slowly started to speed up, rocking the bed. "Good" was all he was able to moan. His hand started to move on his own hard cock.

John moaned and kissed Sherlock again, a bit sloppy and desperate as he moved into him. "M'close. . . close."

Sherlock looked up at John. He rocked his hips with John's movements and started moving his hand faster on his cock. His breath caught and he began panting softly. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, getting lost in everything, in every physical and emotional feeling that filled his entire body and brain. "John," he said but he wasn't sure if he'd shouted or whispered it. And then he was coming, his muscles tightening and he felt frozen for a moment and then could breath again.

John gasped when he felt Sherlock squeezing around him. That was the last, wonderful sensation he needed to push him over. He had caused that and Sherlock looked beautiful, lost in pleasure. John followed not long after, pushing deep into him before coming himself, shouting out for Sherlock and panting between soft moans. He slumped over Sherlock and curled close as he tried to catch his breath. 

Sherlock came back to the moment and the room, and he wrapped his arms around John and squeezed as they both got control over their bodies and breathing. "John," he said softly, one word which meant everything. He hoped John would understand.

John kissed his shoulder softly, keeping his eyes closed as he basked in the moment. It was real. He had just had sex with Sherlock, a man who loved him. A man he loved. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "This is right, you know?"

John nodded and said, "I know this is right."


End file.
